


she who would go to hell for pleasure

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demon Summoning AU, Eating out, F/F, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Handcuffs, Restraints, bondage and a little discipline, don't come here for fluff, it's just sex it's just sex it's j u s t s e x, terezi is the only person who can bring out rose's submissive side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: They’ve told you never to play games or make deals, but you’ve always been in favor of flying too close to the sun just to feel its heat.





	she who would go to hell for pleasure

She flips her green hood up and away to show her face and smiles, all sharp teeth and red eyes. “So, Rose Lalonde,” she says, and you wince as her broken-glass voice says your name perfectly, right down to the inflection. “What do you want bad enough to offer your mind and soul?” You know she’s blind, but something inside you still tells you to freeze when she seems to look at you, a fear response flaring up in response to the feeling that you're being hunted. She grins still wider, and her black lips crack and peel, blood beading on them, a surprising shade of teal almost the same as her outfit. You watch, mesmerized, but she snaps her fingers (not quite under your nose, not from the circle you’ve trapped her in) and you jerk out of your reverie. She raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t emptied your brain yet, mortal,” she says. “Don’t try to ruin my fun so soon.”   
  
You roll your eyes, then shut the Grimoire you used to summon her, casually sliding the bookmark into the page detailing the banishment ceremony. Then you stand. Even upright, you’re shorter than her, but that’s not surprising- she’s nearly seven feet tall, and you barely crack 5’4”. Still, having to look up to see her face is irksome. “How do you know I want to sell my soul to you, Seer?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.   
  
The figure in the circle mirrors your posture, cocking her head and crossing her arms. Her knife-point elbows jut out, edges of bone under her gray skin, and her glossy, tangled dark hair brushes her shoulder. She looks frail, almost, like a breeze could break her. But you can see her bare legs through the slit in her mint-green skirt, and they’re smooth and strong, well-muscled like an athlete’s. Her smile grows wider, and you can see that her teeth aren’t just sharp, they’re serrated. Slowly, she runs a long, black tongue over her lips, leaving a trail of wet saliva. “You smell,” she says, “like a girl looking for something she can’t get on her own.”

  
You snort. “Is that all I smell like, to you?”   
  
“No, actually.” She bites the tip of her tongue and moves her head up and down, sniffing deeply. Then she exhales, loud and satisfied. “You also smell like lavender.”   
  
You shift from leg to leg uncomfortably, trying to ignore the feeling spreading slowly through your body. “You’re right,” you say, cutting to the chase. “I wanted to find something out. Learn something.” You take a deep breath. “Do you want to know what that is?”   
  
“Enlighten me, Miss Lavender Lalonde,” she says, her voice bubbling with an undercurrent of laughter. “What exactly  _ did _ you want bad enough to flirt with eternal damnation?” She raises her eyebrows, then places her hand beside her mouth and mock-whispers. “That is to say, me?”

  
“I wanted to know,” you say, walking forwards, right up to the edge of the circle, “if I could do it. I wanted to know if you were real.”   
  
The Seer laughs, long and loud. Her laugh, unlike her voice, is clear and ringing. “Well, Miss Lavender,” she says, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. “That is indeed a novel motive! Tell me,” she asks, her voice suddenly deadly serious. “Did your book tell you exactly what would happen if you summoned a demon with no deal in mind?”   
  
You nod. “It did. So, I decided I’d save you the trouble.” And with your foot, you break the chalk line of the summoning circle.   
  
She actually looks surprised, for about a millisecond. Then she pounces on you, her skinny frame slamming you backwards and into the ground, hard. It’s pure luck you don’t hit your head on the floor, and careful planning that allowed you to put the thick carpet there beforehand, leaving you with only bruises and rug burn where you might have otherwise had broken bones. Then she sits on top of you, straddling you, your arms pinned down to the carpet by her white-hot hands. Her face is directly above yours, oddly round in comparison to her razor-blade body, and her hair drifts down and tickle your cheeks. You stare directly into her eyes, and you can hear her breathing fast and deep (you don’t know whether it’s from exertion or excitement or a strange desire to smell your fear). As you watch, though, her expression softens, slackens. “Oh,” she says, her voice quieter, with a triumphant undertone that makes you want to bite her. “So _ that’s _ what you want.” And, very deliberately, she moves and slips a leg between yours. Her skirt spreads, and you can feel the heat of her legs against you. Then she leans down and kisses you.   
  
Her mouth is warmer and wetter and much, much softer than you’d expected considering her chapped lips, and her teeth are very, very sharp. You run your tongue over them and feel the cuts opening up, the salty tang of your blood. Her own tongue, inhumanly long and dexterous, slips into your mouth slowly, flicking across your lips and teeth like a light touch. You strain against her, trying to move your arms up and grab her to pull her closer, but she presses down harder with her hands, her thumbs drawing burning circles on your soft skin. You hiss into her mouth and shove yourself downwards against her knee, rubbing on her. You can already feel the wetness between your legs, and when she grinds against you as well, only separated by the fabric of your dark pants and her underwear, you swear you can almost feel it between hers as well. She exhales through her nose and pulls her mouth away from yours, then licks the side of your face, slowly. 

You grit your teeth and wrench an arm free from her grasp, then snake it around her back and tug her closer until her body is flush with yours. She lets out a grunt and releases your other arm, running her hands down your sides and up under your shirt even as she sucks on your neck. You gasp and buck against her, arching your back towards her questing hands, and she moves her mouth up and whispers in your ear. "Lift your arms over your head," she says, and you comply, letting go of her. She pulls your shirt up and off you, leaving your torso bare but for your bra, bright purple against your skin. Slowly, she sits up, shifting a little on your leg, and surveys you briefly before slipping a finger under your bra strap and snapping it against your skin. "Nice underwear, Miss Lavender," she says. "It matches your smell. I like the lace especially."   
  
"You can smell lace?" you ask, raising your eyebrows. The Seer nods, a strangely bird-like motion.    
  
"I can smell so many things, you have no idea." She inhales deep, then sighs contentedly. "I can smell your arousal, especially." Her face once again breaks out into that shit-eating grin. "It's delicious."    
  
"Hmm," you say, quietly. "Well, telling you that you're wrong would be a bald-faced lie. The real question is..." You pause for a suspenseful moment, watching her face. "What are you going to do about it?"

She snaps her fingers, once, and thick, padded handcuffs materialize from the floor and snap shut around your wrists. Instinctively you tug at them, trying to get your hands free, but they’re hooked into some sort of metal loop you know wasn’t there before. “I think this is where I’ll start,” she says, then frowns. “Of course, if you say the word I’ll free you. No use hurting clients who don’t want it.” 

“Clients?” you ask. “Is that what I am to you? I wasn’t aware you were a succubus.” 

“Oh, I’m not. Humans are just- well. I shouldn’t have to tell _ you  _ that humans will fuck anything and anyone they find remotely attractive.”

You nod. “Sounds about right. What’s the word? ‘I, Rose Lalonde, give my eternal soul to get this demon woman off me?’”

“Fuck no,” she responds, looking a bit taken aback. “How would you remember all those words while under my thrall? No, the word is “brimstone.” Obviously.”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, and she narrows your eyes and reaches down to your chest, running her hands along your bra. She snaps her fingers again and it dematerializes all at once, leaving your breasts bare. Then she reaches down and pinches your nipple, hard. You yelp involuntarily, twitching to try and get away, and she lets go. 

The Seer leans down, close to your face once more, and her voice is very quiet and very dangerous when she speaks. “Don’t talk back to me, Miss Lavender, unless it’s to beg me for more.” You open your mouth to answer her, then shut it again. You swallow and nod, and she pats your cheek almost fondly. “Good girl.” And as you watch, she grasps the sides of her strange, hooded dress and lifts it over her head, revealing herself. 

She’s wearing boxer shorts and a sports bra, teal with red trim and not at all what you would have expected from a demon summoned from the pits of Hades. Hooked onto the waistband of her boxers is a small sheath that would be well-concealed under her clothes, with the handle of a knife sticking out of it, and your eyes widen slightly as you look at it. She sniffs delicately, then looks down, seeming to notice the weapon again for the first time. Then she glances up and smirks. “Don’t worry. I won’t use this on you.” She pauses for a moment, then laughs. “Yet.” 

You want to respond so badly, to open your mouth and taunt her, but she unzips your pants and conscious thought starts to drift apart like a handful of sand thrown into a river. She pulls them down to reveal your underwear, plain and white in contrast to your bra, and makes a small, pleased noise. The Seer strokes the skin around the fabric gently, her fingers soft, and then removes it too and twines her hands gently through the coarse, darker blonde hair curling wildly between your thighs. One finger slips lightly around the wetness of your lips, teasing through your folds until it finds your clit. She flicks it, once, and you inhale sharply, lifting your hips towards her in preparation. But instead of sliding her fingers into you she stands, walking around your body to your head. 

“Oh, no, Miss Lavender. Not yet. First,” she says, leaning over you, her dark hair hanging, her black lips stretched in a smile, “you tend to my needs.” Then she removes her sports bra, freeing her chest, and her underwear. She sets the knife sheath gently down on top of the pile, and then she’s as naked as you are. You turn your head to look at her and she smiles wider, stretching her arms up over her head. “Do you like what you see?”

You turn your head to the side as much as you can and look up at her, at her body, and you do like it. She’s incredibly tall, with a lithe, muscled form like a dancer or a gymnast, and you can better observe her movements without her clothes- they’re sharp, with a strange kind of disconnected grace that reminds you of birds on land. Her skin looks smooth and soft, and the hair on her legs and surrounding her crotch is straighter and sparser than yours, a deep blue-black in color. Her breasts are small, her nipples a darker grey against her skin, and you wonder how they’d feel against your mouth. You can see the wetness around her crotch, and your mouth goes dry even as you shift eagerly against the handcuffs. “I do indeed.”

She leans down until you can see her face and stares directly at you with her sightless eyes. She's not smiling now- her face is deadly serious, her voice quiet and rasping. “I do indeed,  _ Seer _ . Show respect, or I just might have to do something about that mouth of yours.” 

“Like what?” you whisper, just before she turns and steps over you, her legs on either side of your head. She's facing away, looking at your feet, and you can see everything- her wet folds, her cleft, her eagerness in the way she's shifting. It dawns on you.

“Like this,” she says, and lowers herself down onto you.

She has the decency to kneel a little, so your head doesn't take too much pressure, but God damn it's dark. You open your mouth experimentally and lick around, tasting sweat and musk and a strange tinge of sulfur as you do, and she shudders on top of you, shaking your now-dark world like an earthquake. You arch your back as much as you can under her, her arousal and her power over you exciting you, intoxicating you. And so you lean forwards and stick your mouth up, aiming it towards her. Your tongue meets her clit, the nub of it tucked away, and she digs her fingernails into your sides, tension building in her body. You take as much of a breath as you can and plunge your tongue though her lips and into her. You can taste her, now. It's all you can taste. She grinds against you, moving her hands up to hold your head as she moves in rhythm with you, shoving herself downwards hard against you, fucking your face. Your own body longs for release- with each small moan she lets out you get more desperate, until you're bucking your hips against air in the hope of some kind of release. She laughs, breathy and choked up, and rocks harder against you. “Deeper,” she says, not a request but a command. “Go deeper,” and you stick your tongue further into her, licking the ridges of her walls, flicking the tip of your tongue against the deepest part of her. She hisses in delight and moves her hands from the sides of your head to your breasts, caressing them, running her nails over them. Then she grabs them hard, squeezing, and you shriek into her a little, more a high-pitched hum than an actual scream, and buck further. She lets go and you hear her snap her fingers again, then feel cuffs on your ankles, holding them down.

“Oh God,” you whisper, your voice muffled by her flesh, and she moves back up to continue fucking herself against you, holding you still. The thought of saying the safeword crosses your mind as you eat her out, as her heavy breaths get faster, shaking her against you, but it's dismissed in an instant. You're actually enjoying this. And, God help you, you are really fucking turned on. 

All at once, the Seer drops herself down harder onto you, shoving your head even more between her legs and almost cutting off your airway. But it doesn't matter- you tilt your head up towards her and nip lightly at her labia, then shove your tongue back in, deeper than before, and she digs her nails into you and moans in her throat. She goes faster, more frantically, pleasuring herself with you, until suddenly she stops, going totally tense, yanking at your hair. Her body is stiff, and she lets out a quiet, whimpering sigh before relaxing totally. 

She sits for a moment more, then stands and steps away from you to look down into your dazed face. She's still breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her face teal-flushed and her eyes wide. When she speaks, her voice rasps quietly. “Not bad,” she says, “for a mortal. But,” she continues, kneeling and trailing the fingers of one hand across your stomach and down, “before I return the favor, are you certain you don't want to make a deal?”

With those words, the rational part of your mind snaps into place and starts screaming. You've fucked up royally by giving her power over you, even temporarily. Now, even if you use the safeword and she lets you go, you've done the equivalent of signing a contract without filling in any of the other blanks. Demons are not like the fae. There must always be a trade, there must always be something given, and the contact must be signed, even if you chose a more unconventional method than most. You summoned her knowing this. You had a plan. But you can't… quite…

“Remember?” The Seer gives you an unsettling grin. “You forgot, Miss Lavender, that I deal with minds. Memories. Choices. You've left yourself, quite literally, naked before me. Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want the deal sealed. Tell me what you'll give me in return, because if you don't, well. You released me. And now I can take everything from your head. Unless you tell me not to.”

You swallow, your throat dry.  “Seer,” you say, then use her true name, the one you used to summon her in the first place. “Terezi Pyrope. I will give you the set path of victory that I can see laid out before me, in return for the resources I need to get through any barrier.”

The Seer raises an eyebrow at you, then shrugs. “Are you sure, Lalonde, that you're smart enough to get by without destiny’s help?” You don't answer, just stare at her, and she laughs. “Of course you are.” Then she snaps her fingers and you feel a sensation like rushing water flow over you, the same as you felt when you summoned her. It's shocking cold and leaves you gasping. When it subsides, the Seer is staring at you, still chained and bound before her. You look back, silently. Then you smile.

“Are we, in fact, going up finish sealing the contract?”

The Seer looks at you through long lashes and nods. “We will indeed.” Then, without taking her eyes of you, she reaches out and grabs her sheathed knife off of her pile of clothes. She carefully draws it out in front of your eyes, revealing a translucent red blade that looks to be made of some sort of glass. “Hold still,” she purrs, then rests the tip of the knife on your belly. “This won't hurt. Much.” Then, with the precision of a surgeon, she draws a burning symbol on your stomach.

You gasp as she does, but she's right- it doesn't hurt like a cut. The blade never pierces your skin, and when you tilt your head down you can see it leaving behind dark, raised lines, like a tattoo. When she raises it, there's a brand on your belly in the shape of a circle, with strange offshoots. It reminds you oddly of neuron, and the Seer taps it twice with a black fingernail. “This,” she says, “marks you as mine. The contract can't be broken after this. You will be my… Hmm. ‘Thrall’ doesn't really cover it. But it binds you, just as it binds me. Do you understand, Miss Lavender?” You nod, and she hums in agreement. “Good. And now,” she says, “to seal the deal.” The Seer straddles your waist, kneeling on either side, her wet slit rubbing just below the mark she made on you. You make a noise in your throat, quiet, almost involuntary, and she laughs. “Don't be so desperate, Lalonde.” Then she moves her hands, running them up your waist, your breasts, then to your shoulders. Lightly, you move against her leg, looking for some kind of relief, but the shackles stop you.

As if sensing your displeasure, the Seer moves downwards, holding onto your shoulders as she slides her body slowly down. Her mouth trails down your stomach, licking over the still-tender brand, and you arch your back up, moving your hips towards her. All at once she lets go of your shoulders and places her hands on your hips, shoving them down and holding your pelvis immobile against the carpet. Then, without pause, she buries her face in your crotch.

You gasp, straining against your bonds, trying to move closer, trying to grind down on her mouth, but you can't. You're entirely at her mercy, and she revels in it. You can feel her hair tickling the insides of your thighs, her breath warm against you, the very tip of her tongue lightly flicking through your folds. She finds your clit and licks it gently, and an almost pained noise is torn from your throat. You feel her smile, just before she slips her tongue excruciatingly slowly into you. You inhale deeply, clenching your thighs around her head, and she goes deeper, her tongue inhumanly dexterous and long, running it over your inner walls. She takes one hand off from holding your hips down and stimulates your clit and the hood of it, and your vision blurs slightly as you tip your head back, breathing hard, pulling up from the restraints as much as you can. You feel her lips, her teeth scraping gently against your labia, and you say her title like an unholy prayer. “Seer,” you gasp, and then her tongue hits the deepest spot of you and you can't talk any more. She flattens her mouth against you, curling her tongue against you, then swipes a hand over your hip and down, gliding a finger into you. Your vision whites out and you arch against her, taut and rigid, the pleasure sweeping over you like a wave. You barely feel her turn her head and bite the inside of your thigh, lightly. Then it's over, and you slump back, drained. She raises her head and looks at you with her red eyes, a new fire burning in them, then slowly sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“It is done,” she says, in a voice that is deeper, clearer, more resonant than before. “The deal has been sealed. I am yours, Rose Lalonde. And you are mine.”

She, her clothes, the knife, and the restraints on your wrists and ankles dissolve into black smoke all at once, then dissipate into the wind, leaving you naked and alone on the floor of your apartment. You sit up and run your hand over the Seer’s brand on your stomach, then shiver, suddenly feeling very, very cold.


End file.
